


The World Isn't Black and White

by deathrae



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, I almost didn't share it, ah well hopefully it's still fun, also I feel like I should apologize for Marinette's aggressive punning but, and I'm not sure the second half makes much sense, forgive me this is far from my best work but dammit the world needs a little more ladrien in it, given it got away from me somewhere in the middle, ladybug vision, too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathrae/pseuds/deathrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ladybugs can't see color and cats don't see much contrast, and maybe that doesn't <em>explain</em> anything but it also doesn't do them any favors...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Isn't Black and White

When he first showed up at her door she didn’t have time to notice the color of his hair or his eyes. It was only later, in retrospect, that she realized something was different.

That night she visited Alya’s Ladyblog for reasons that were not, for the first time in her life, nervously reading through to confirm that Alya had not crept too close to unmasking her.

She flipped through the photo gallery, finding the ones that focused on Chat instead of her. He was a natural in front of the camera, she decided, actually grumbling aloud about it. He looked like bad luck didn’t affect his magic in front of a lens. Every shot made him look good. Showed off the sleek black leather of his suit, or highlighted his slim body as he crouched on railings and leapt from roof to roof throughout Paris on patrol.

The fact that she noticed now, when she never had before, embarrassed her somewhat.

But now and then, she hesitated on a chance candid, or a news shot where he was closer to the photographer. She knew he was fluffy-headed and bright-eyed, of course, but...

“ _Well Marinette, ladybugs only see in black and white!”_ Tikki had chirped cheerfully, after her first time in the suit. _“I can’t see colors, so when we’re bound together in transformation, you can’t either. But there’s lots of other ways to see than just colors!”_

At the beginning it was a lot to adjust to. Not just learning to fly by the wire of a yo-yo and a high-jumper’s flick of her body through the air, but also learning to navigate the rooftops of Paris by form and label and intuition, not hue and shade. Paris started to look stranger _in_ color than _not_. By the time she met Chat Noir she’d stopped noticing how different things looked. She’d finally gotten used to the fact that when her mask was on, the world was all grayscale. It never occurred to her that his hair wasn’t white—that his eyes weren’t just another light shadow of grey.

The idea that his eyes were as green as gemstones or that his hair was a gold that would put a summer sunrise to shame had never occurred to her, behind Ladybug’s mask. Only when he’d been at her door, or had been saving her from sinking into the river under a glass box, did she have a half-second to take it in.

Compulsively she glanced toward the photos on her wall. She remembered, in a moment of strange clarity, that months ago Alya had insisted Adrien might look a bit like Chat. At the time, riding the high of saving Alya from Hawkmoth’s akuma and the near-miss of her reveal in front of Chat Noir, it had seemed utterly nonsense.

She wasn’t quite ready to admit it to herself, but it was just _slightly_ more credible now. The colors lined up, at least.

Did that matter? It seemed like maybe it should. The pictures on the Ladyblog would indicate that Ladybug matched her, at the very least.

A _tap-tap_ on her window made her jump in her chair, startled beyond what was reasonable. Just how engrossed _was_ she?

She went to her window, peering into the glass to try to see through the glare from her lamp behind her. Green eyes under black leather found her through the glass and her heart leapt up to her throat.

Chat Noir waved, beaming with cheerfulness.

She suddenly wished she had a curtain to drag closed, but in lieu of that, she stared at him for a long moment, then another. He tilted his head curiously, ears flicking, and mouthed something to her.

_You okay?_

She gave a hasty nod, realizing she was being rude, and gestured up toward the balcony. She waited long enough for him to register understanding and leave the window before she darted to the other side of the room and headed up to the trapdoor, climbing up till she’d poked halfway out of her room.

“Hello again,” Chat said, crouched a few feet from her.

“Chat Noir!” she squeaked, because it was all she could think to say. Did her examining his photos _summon_ him somehow? Did he know? “I didn’t expect... i-is there more danger?”

“I should hope not!” he said with a soft laugh. She’d never noticed how warm his skin looked, how piercing his eyes were with full contrast. “I just wanted to check in on you. You got home alright after that talented painter of ours left, I hope?”

“I did,” she said, smirking faintly. He was showing off less than before, she realized. He was less flashy, more down to earth. Almost without realizing she was doing it, she levered herself out onto the balcony outright and dusted off her hands. “Thank you for checking on me, Chat.”

He lit up at the praise and jabbed his thumb into his chest, claws gleaming in the streetlights. “All in a day’s work for a hero of Paris, of course!”

She laughed and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against a flowerbox. “Oh is that so? How dashing! And does a hero of Paris not need to patrol and confirm its security?”

He hesitated, a half-second of fear that she probably wouldn’t have noticed if she didn’t know him so well. He hastily scoffed, spreading his hands and leaning against the balcony railing. “But of course! I did a run of the city before I came here.”

 _Uh-huh._ _Either that was one very hasty patrol or it is much later than I think it is_ , she thought, and dropped the issue. Besides, she wasn’t Ladybug right now—she shouldn’t have a reason to chastise his diligence.

“Anyway,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows, remembering suddenly that he was here to have a conversation and she was distracting herself with thoughts that could get her in trouble if she voiced them by mistake. “I mostly just wanted to make sure you were alright. You played bait to an akuma today,” he said, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it before. Not the cartwheeling affection he had sometimes when he was talking to Ladybug, but kind. Soothing.

“That’s not very impressive next to being a hero of Paris,” she said, watching him with a newfound interest.

“It is,” he said, stepping closer to her. He was approaching slow, not in a stalk but careful. A display of polite respect. He talked a lot with his hands, she realized. “What you did was very brave. And even if our artist friend got away from us then, that’s important.”

His smile wasn’t the one she was used to either—not his flirtatious grin or his gleeful little smirk when he’d made a particularly despicable pun. This one was a kind, gentle smile.

How could she forget? How often did Chat, on the occasions he had not used his Cataclysm and did not need to beat a hasty retreat, linger to talk with victims, smiling and flicking his tail and rubbing his leather cat-ears against the hands of frightened children? How often did he sit with Parisians wrapped in shock blankets, or herd dogs with loose-hanging leashes back to their owners, while she wrangled the press? She rarely noticed it, but her trip through the Ladyblog’s photo gallery proved it. Some thought of Chat Noir as dangerous, with his rotten bad luck and his power to destroy, but he worked constantly to overturn that reputation every time she had her back to him.

But not this time. This time they were face to face and she could see him for who he really was.

He was close enough to touch now, still smiling that special smile for victims and injured, and yet... he looked like he genuinely thought she was just as much a hero as Ladybug was. Even though the ploy failed. Even though Nathanael had gotten away and attacked Chloe after he trapped them on the riverboat.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and without quite thinking about it, she reached up to scritch behind his black leather ear.

It was a sign of his trust that he didn’t flinch, eyebrows raising until her fingers met his hair. He jumped, eyes wide at first, but just as suddenly he relaxed, his eyes slipping mostly shut and his head drooping forward into her hand, giving her more room to rub and touch.

There was a rough grating rumble somewhere in his throat—he _purred_ , the sweet, gallant kitten—and she cooed softly to him, hiding a giggle behind her hand.

“No fair to laugh at me,” he said sluggishly, meeting her eyes with a pout. His voice had gone a little deeper, fuzzy with contentment.

“I’m not!” she insisted, though she wasn’t sure that was strictly true. “I didn’t know you could be so cute.”

That woke him up. He puffed up his chest, standing up tall again. “I-I am no such thing!”

“You are,” she said, laughing, and he pouted at her again. “You’re dashing and courageous and heroic—” His eyes went wide, and sparkled slightly with glee. “—and you are also standing on my balcony in the dead of night, purring while I pet your ears. Ergo, cute.”

He narrowed his eyes, lips pursed together as he thought through this.

“You make a compelling argument.”

“I thought you might think so,” she said, and an impish grin stole across her face. “The _paw_ -secution rests, Your Honor.”

He stared for a moment, and for just a moment she was worried he hadn’t understood until his face split into a broad grin and he scooped her up off the ground, laughing openly and gleefully in a way she’d never heard before. He rubbed his nose against her as he held her aloft, still laughing and grinning and she could feel it where his face was pressed to her shirt. She rested her hands on his shoulders for balance, one sliding to play with his hair at the back of his neck and ruffle his ears until he set her back down.

It never occurred to her to be afraid he’d drop her.

He was still grinning, his face flushed with joy. “Purr-fect wordplay.”

“It’s all my father’s fault,” she admitted, and laughed. “He’s at it naan-stop.”

He narrowed his eyes and she grinned, pointing down over the balcony rail. He leaned over and sniffed the air once, then twice, then laughed.

“Of course. I bet he has a lot of crumb-y jokes.”

“Hey now,” she said. She knew she shouldn’t encourage him, but the excitement on his face was far too endearing. “You wouldn’t want me to baguette-ing the impression you don’t him.”

“ _Perish_ the thought,” he said. “I would never dream of de-phyllo-ing such a talented man. That would be absolutely un-raisin-able of me.”

Now she groaned, shaking her head and trying to stop smiling. She shouldn’t have wound him up, now he’d _never_ stop, but it was oddly fun to play along for once. She tried to be so focused as Ladybug that his jokes were a distraction, but now...

“Marinette,” he murmured, and his claws gently pushed her bangs away from her eyes. “I never knew you could be so free like this.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“Uhhh.” He looked away guiltily, scuffing the floor with his shoe. “Just, I mean, you know. Seeing you today. Talking with you. You’re not quite what I expected.”

There was a nagging note of suspicion in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away and smiled. “You either,” she admitted. “I suppose I assumed you were just a gallant, overenthusiastic goofball.” He looked affronted for a moment, softening only when she scratched under his jaw, his throat working on another purr. “And you _are_ those things, but...” He didn’t look like he was hearing her at all, though his black ears were ticked forward to listen. “You’re more than I gave you credit for, kitty.”

His purr rumbled louder in his chest and she laughed softly, pushing at him.

“Alright, alright, it’s late.”

The purr stopped, replaced by a soft mew of dismay.

“I don’t know about _you_ ,” she murmured, “But I have school tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking a few times as if to clear his hazy thoughts, and he looked around, as if searching for a clock. “I have kept you far too long as it is.”

“I didn’t mind,” she said, and he smiled faintly, placated. “Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

He grinned, sly this time, and backed up a step. “Perhaps you will.”

She gave him a skeptical look, unsure what to think of his tone. “Mmhm. Well, goodnight, kitty.”

“Goodnight, Princess,” he said, stepping over to the railing and drawing his baton, flashing her a grin and his usual two-fingered salute. To her surprise, she didn’t mind the nickname as much this time. He vaulted away, swinging himself through the air into the park and then beyond. She watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore, then opened the trapdoor and started down the stairs.

“So,” Tikki chirped, and if Marinette didn’t know better she’d say Tikki was grinning. “How was your talk with Chat?”

“It was fine,” Marinette mumbled, crawling into bed and giving the little red kwami a shrewd look. “Why?”

“Oh nothing,” Tikki said, twirling along through the air until she settled near Marinette’s head on the pillow to rest. “You just left his pictures up on your computer.”

“Ack!” She jerked back upright, then hesitated. “Ugh. I don’t want to deal with it. I’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Tikki laughed merrily as Marinette flopped back down and pulled the blankets up to her chin with a yank that was almost spiteful.

 

***

 

Months had passed. Chat hadn’t come by to visit much again, though she occasionally glimpsed him across the road from the bakery on patrol without her. Life was as normal as normal got when you spent your off-time running across Paris rooftops fighting superpowered villains.

The idea came while she was staring at the back of Adrien’s head in class.  Her mind was wandering, but astonishingly, it was far away instead of firmly rooted like a kite on the boy in front of her. Alya poked her with a pen, once, twice, but she barely noticed until she _does_. The what-if dances around her head and Alya’s words were echoing through her mind. _He kind of looks like Chat, don’t you think?_

There’s a way to find out. And it’s all too easy.

And at the same time, almost impossible to do, let alone to _consider_.

All she has to do is see Adrien from behind the mask. Will his hair be as white, his eyes the shame pale shadow of grey?

If they are, what does that mean? Does it mean anything?

Maybe it means everything.

Or maybe it means nothing.

But there was only one way to find out, either way.

That night they patrolled as scheduled. The streets were quiet, and while Chat returned home, she waited on the roof of her school, working up her nerve and trying not to talk herself out of it before swinging toward the Agreste mansion, creeping over neighboring rooftops until his room was in view. She pulled out her yo-yo to get a closer view, hoping he was home.

When his light flicked on, her heart jumped into her throat.

She swung over to his rooftop and dropped down on her string to hang by his window.

His room was somehow bigger and emptier than she would have expected. There are plenty of _things_ in it, but little that says much about him. Everything was neat and organized, not a sock out of place, which seemed odd.

She’s _seen_ Nino’s room before, after all. No self-respecting teenage boy has a room that clean.

He moved slowly across the room to collapse into his computer chair, like he was tired, and for a moment she thought better of her plan. _No, come on, you’re Ladybug! You can do this!_ She chewed on her lip, took a breath, and rapped her fist against the glass before she could run off.

He jumped like a spooked animal and for just a moment she regretted it, offering a sheepish wave of her hand and a smile.

Adrien stared at her, mouth dropping open just slightly, and then all of a sudden he was in motion, as if he’d suddenly realized he might be being rude. He leaped across the room, scrambling over a sofa to push the window open.

“H-hi,” he whispered, all breathless wonder and adoration.

“Hi,” she whispered back, fighting every bit of shyness out of her voice.

“My L– L-Ladybug, I– I mean, um, is anything wrong?”

His stumbling reminded her entirely too much of herself, and she couldn’t help a small giggle. “No, no, I was swinging through and wanted to say hello.” He looked quizzical for a moment and she winked slyly, nodding at his computer screen. “I hear you’re a big fan.”

He looked over his shoulder at his computer screen (the Ladyblog photo gallery, how fitting given her meeting with Chat all those months ago) and when he turned back around his face was a different shade—she assumed he’d gone nearly as red as her suit. It was hard to tell so close to the night sky and the darkness outside; most everything was dim and dark and very, very grey. Which didn’t much help her investigation.

“O-oh,” he started, “I just, um, yes. Fan. Yes.”

She grinned and leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “May I come in? Just for a moment, I promise.”

His whole face had gone to that uniform shade of grey and he stepped back with a stammered “S-sure!” to let her inside.

She slid in and hit the floor with a light _thump_.

Feigning interest, she stepped deeper into the room, recoiling her yo-yo and tucking it away, peering around. “Nice place,” she said, pretending her stomach wasn’t doing little flips at the idea of being in his room.

“Th-thank you,” he mumbled, and trailed behind her.

When she was in the center of the room, she finally turned. She felt vaguely like a predator, luring her prey into the light to see him, but when she looked at him, his hair catching the light and throwing his face into clearer contrast, her breath caught.

He was staring at her with an expression of blatant admiration, a look she thought she would be more comfortable receiving after Chat’s constant adoration. But more than that, his hair was just as white as her partner’s, seen through this filter of greyscale.

A faint noise of interest slipped past her lips, and without thinking she stepped closer, hand raised to touch his hair.

He moved closer, just a fraction, and her fingers bumped into his forehead. She opened her mouth to apologize, but his eyes were shut and he leaned closer to her hand. Unbidden, she thought of Chat leaning into her fingers when she scratched his chin over the river after the zoo.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, as if he’d only just realized what he was doing, but he didn’t move away.

“No, it’s...” She hesitated. This was insane. _She_ was insane. Here she was, in _Adrien’s room_ , touching his hair, and he wasn’t just _letting her_ , he looked like he _wanted_ her to do it.

She flicked her gaze to the photos on his computer screen.

She thought of the warmth in him every time he touched her shoulder in the school hallways and the way he smiled at everyone.

He had no idea who she was, and wasn’t this taking advantage of him?

Her selfishness warred with her respect of him.

“I shouldn’t have...”

“Please,” he said, his voice broken like glass and just as sharp, cutting in deep, and he turned toward the palm of her hand.

His face was discolored grey again. Embarrassed.

Of what, asking?

Wanting?

She flicked her gaze left to his oversized empty room and thought of the uniformity of his kindness to their classmates, the walls he kept up around most everyone except, maybe, Nino.

_Maybe I’m not the only one wearing a mask._

The thought struck her with such clarity and suddenness that it almost made her gasp. The idea hurt, deep in her chest.

“Please,” he whispered again. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

 _He trusts me so much_.

She smiled.

“If you’re sure,” she said, without thinking.

He cracked his eyes open to look at her, light grey trained on her face. There was something in them. Clarity. Wisdom, maybe. He knew what he was getting into and wanted it anyway.

Did she?

He quirked a very slight smile, still leaning toward her hand, and she felt her heart swell to bursting.

God, did she ever.

“I’m sure,” he said.

She stroked his hair away from his face, tucking some behind his ear, and he leaned into her touch again, lips parted, eyes shut. Trusting and overcome all at once.

“Adrien,” she whispered.

His eyes, just slightly open again. He licked his lips to speak, his voice thin and hoarse.

“Yeah?”

She leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

For a moment he didn’t move, didn’t twitch, but then his hands were on her back and his arms were curled around her and her hands were light against his chest and his mouth was _so_ _warm_.

She slid her hands up to the collar of his shirt, past it, looped her arms around his neck and tangled her fingers into his hair, cursing the gloves that she couldn’t feel how it felt tangled around her fingers, stiff from gel but soft at the ends.

He made a sound against her mouth and she pulled him tighter against her. She could feel his breath on her cheek and the heat of his skin against hers and his fingers curled against her back, catching on her shoulderblades through the fabric of the suit. He moved, stepping forward, into her, pushing her backward until her back met a wall and she was grateful she hadn’t bumped into anything but he pressed closer to her, teeth teasing at her lip, and she struggled to get a full breath, inhaling sharply and pressing her shoulders up against the wall to get closer to him, dragging his chest against hers, tugging at his hair.

She couldn’t think, her brainpower entirely consumed by his body pressed to hers and the taste of his toothpaste. He smelled like leather and Paris air, and as if Tikki was whispering it in her ear, she remembered—heard?—something strange.

_There are more ways to see than color._

He smelled like the city, like fresh air and starlight, in strange contrast to his room, which smelled like factory-clean furnishings and some kind of body spray she recognized from his clothes at school.

He tilted his head, then broke away to gasp in a breath, trailing down to her neck, his lips tracing the top of her suit, the brush of him against her skin maddening.

But what was that sound?

Adrien jerked his face away suddenly, his light-grey eyes wide and full of a fear that didn’t make any sense in her haze of contentment.

“Adrien?”

He was still making that sound, that rumbling catching sound like the engine of a motorcycle—

He looked at her, terrified, and her eyes went as wide as his.

She mouthed his name—his _other_ name—and he _trembled_ but he hadn’t pulled back. She hadn’t let go of his hair and his hands were still hot against her back.

His eyes were shining with pain, with terror, with guilt. His mouth opened to speak, to apologize, perhaps to beg.

She put a finger against his lips to stop him and he froze.

She smiled, and he softened, just a little. Confused.

“I...” He swallowed and she could see his throat working. “My Lady, I...”

She laughed softly, and he blinked several times in succession.

“Why... aren’t you yelling at me?”

“Silly kitty,” she murmured, a fondness curling in her chest like a—well. Like a contented cat. An idea took shape in her mind and she almost laughed, tapping a finger to his nose. “I’d never be that _un-raisin-able_.”

He stared, bewildered, and she wondered how many it might take to make him realize, trying to remember all the jokes her father had ever told to make his wife and daughter groan.

“It’s a naan-issue,” she whispered, leaning in close to press a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

He shuddered.

“You know me in real life, then?” he asked faintly.

“Mmhm. I never thought I’d be the one to whisk you off your feet though.”

“Wh-what?” he mumbled, as she trailed up under his jaw.

“No guesses? I donut know how I’ll stand it.”

“How do you even—” his breath hitched audibly as her lips found his earlobe, teeth testing his skin. “—know so many b-bread puns...”

“Well you’re a crumb-y guesser, aren’t you,” she murmured, turning to push him up against the wall instead. “Guess I just knead to wheat until you can think of it.”

He frowned, then planted his hands on her shoulders to hold her at bay for a moment. She laughed, looking up at him, and he made a face.

“You’re distracting me,” he grumbled. “Just a second, let me think...”

She grinned impishly, waiting, and tried to imagine ever having the nerve to do this to him without the mask.

“Crumb-y,” he echoed, like something was finally occurring to him. He leaned closer, sniffing cautiously at her hair.

She beamed, and he jerked back again, almost smacking the back of his head on the wall.

“ _Marinette?_ ”

“I knew you’d get it, fur butter or worse,” she murmured.

A grin bubbled out of him, a laugh threatening to slip free until he pulled her back in to kiss her, his hands curled behind her ears, thumbs brushing her earrings.

“Why’d you come?” he whispered later, sitting with her against his wall, his lights dimmed to a level that would fool anyone looking for him.

“Oh that,” she said lightly. “I just wanted to know what your hair looked like in black and white.”

Adrien stared at her, visibly bewildered, and she laughed.

“Awww, come on,” he whined, nuzzling against her neck with his nose. “It’s gonna _bug_ me all night...”


End file.
